Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(163)

Giana rushed up to join them as they left the ship. She wore leathers, and carried a Malazan-issue shortsword at her side. ‘Cartheron?’ she asked.

Tyvar shook his head. ‘He made it plain he would not be travelling up and down those stairs. “Like a weasel popping out of its hole” I believe were his exact words.’

Jute smiled at that, but was saddened as well. The man clearly hadn’t recovered from his gut wound – and probably never would, as he was so very old.

The Genabackan reiver Enguf met them on the dock. His cheery greeting was, to Jute’s ears, rather forced. ‘Going topside, are we?’ The man laughed. ‘Good, good. You’ll enquire as to the plans, yes? Perhaps I and my crew should be sent for help? Yes? Gather reinforcements?’ The crewmen on the dock behind him all nodded their heads enthusiastically.

‘I’ll … suggest it,’ Tyvar promised.

‘Good, good!’ The reiver waved an enthusiastic farewell as they passed.

Starting up the stairs, Giana muttered: ‘Fifty Malazan orbs says they won’t be here when we return.’

‘They will be,’ Tyvar answered, sounding amused.

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because they know they can’t get past my men without my approval. They are, effectively, trapped.’

Jute climbed unhappily, already resenting the effort. Above, the shouts and clash of battle rose and fell like a surf washing a distant shore. The Blue Shield commander’s pace was steady and a touch faster than his; he hurried to keep up. His thoughts turned to the man’s predicament. He had said that the Genabackan pirate was trapped – what then of Tyvar himself? Was he? Jute cleared his throat. ‘Commander?’

‘Just Tyvar to you, captain.’

‘Thank you, sir. If I may … with all due respect. Are you not disheartened?’

The wooden slats of the stairs creaked ominously as the man paused to glance back over his shoulder, a brow raised. ‘Disheartened?’

Jute decided that perhaps that was too strong a word. ‘Ah, concerned?’

Tyvar resumed climbing. ‘Concerned?’

‘To have come all this way – followed the commandment of your god – only to find yourself held aside. Hindered.’

The Blue Shield commander nodded profoundly as he continued up the twisting scaffolding. ‘I understand. In answer to your question … No. We do not. We have faith in Togg, my friend, absent though he may be. All shall be as he foretold. Never fear. Our fate has not come yet … but it shall.’

They took another turn in the scaffolding. Giana was gamely following along behind Jute, grinding her teeth in her frustration, either at the delay, or the rickety construction. After mulling over the Genabackan’s words, Jute called up: ‘But as you say, many of the gods are gone from this world. Our offerings no longer reach them directly. How … isn’t it too late?’

Tyvar nodded once more, clasped his hands behind his back – a dangerous move considering their wobbling footholds. ‘Haagen and I have spoken much on this. It used to be that guardianship of the spirits of our brothers and sisters resided with us, the Shield Anvil and the Sword. Now, however, with Hood’s grip upon all of us released, things have changed.’ He spared Jute one quick glance, as if checking to make certain he was keeping up. ‘Are you familiar with the old belief that no one truly dies?’

Jute paused in his climbing to blink his confusion. ‘I’m sorry …?’ Tyvar paused as well, turned back to face him. ‘Oh yes. Reincarnation they call it. We – that is, our spirits, our souls, are reborn from life to life. No one truly ever goes away. It is a very old idea, in point of fact. Ancient.’

For some reason such an assertion profoundly offended Jute. He started climbing once more. ‘But … what would be the point of that? Is there no purpose to life, then?’

Resuming his climb, his back to Jute, Tyvar raised a finger. ‘A-ha. You have grasped the crux of it. What is the point? Or is there any at all? That is the dread. Perhaps one answer is that each life is an opportunity.’

‘An opportunity?’

‘Yes. For improvement. Or perfection.’

Jute felt quite bewildered by the idea. ‘Do you believe this?’

Tyvar glanced back once more. ‘Myself? No. It is too far from my previous beliefs. However, Haagen and I agree that we are mortal, yet there resides within us some portion that is non-corporeal, imperishable. Just as some element of Togg and all the various gods remains imperishable. And that now, it is to this that we join or are enfolded after death. And whatever that is could be named the Divine. To that will we dedicate our prayers and the care of our spirit.’

More than the vertigo of the ramshackle scaffolding and the blowing wind now tugged at Jute. He felt quite dizzy, and he made an effort to pull his thoughts back to himself. He pressed a hand to his aching brow. ‘I really wouldn’t know anything about such matters. I am just a modest sailor.’

They had reached the top landing. Tyvar turned to him. ‘Perhaps that is what is needed in these uncertain times, my friend. A sailor – someone used to finding his way upon unfamiliar waters. Who knows?’ His brows crimped then, in confusion, and he faced the walls – as did Jute.

All was now quiet, though the northern defenders still guarded the broad semicircle that was the outer walls. They leaned upon their spears and craned their necks to the main gate area. Giana came up beside Jute and frowned her uncertainty. ‘A parley?’ she ventured.